


Return of the Dragons

by Dreamfyre26



Series: Bleeding Stars Series [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dragons have returned, Elia and Lyanna get along, F/F, F/M, Jon Snow and his half-siblings are dragonriders, Jon Snow is a Prince, Jon Snow is called Aemon Targaryen, Lyanna Lives, Lyanna is Rhaegar's second Queen, Prophecy, Rhaegar Lives, The Prince That Was Promised, elia and her children live
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-11-14 14:44:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18054494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamfyre26/pseuds/Dreamfyre26
Summary: Twelve years after the rebellion, Prince Aemon Targaryen is sent to Winterfell to be fostered with his distant relatives.





	1. Prince Aemon

**Prince Aemon**

The dark towers of Dragonstone stood out against the sky like two black candles of ink. As always, a cold gust of wind was blowing from the east washing over the beach and the stormy sea.

Dragonstone was always cold and damp. There was hardly a day that the sun managed to banish away the stormy clouds dotting the sky.

And yet his dragon _Silver_ seemed to like this castle much better than the Dragonpit with its many worm ways and the seven dragonkeepers his father had chosen to guard them. They were like the Kingsguard, though not sworn to protect the King, but the first three dragons that had been born in more than a century.

As a child, he had never thought much about the implications of having a dragon. _Silver_ had been a constant companion, not much different than his siblings or his Aunt and Uncle, but as he had grown older he had come to see them in a slightly different light. They were no pets, but dangerous beasts.

Training them was hard and several of his father’s lords still eyed the return of the dragons with great mistrust, though it were the Maesters his father mistrusted the most.

_The Maesters never liked dragons_ , his father had told him once. _Because they are associated with magic and other truths they like to deny as superstitions._

And while Aemon didn’t share his father’s dislike for the Maesters he couldn’t fault the lords for fearing the dragons. He had read enough history to know what a deadly weapon they could pose and he had been a witness to their wrath when Rhaenys’ dragon _Shadowing_ had torn apart Dickon Tarly after he and two of his foolish companions had dared to enter the Dragonpit. The Dragonkeepers found nothing more of the boy other than a burnt carcass of ash and bones. Dickon Tarly’s companions had found a similar fate, though it had been _Silver_ and Aegon’s dragon _Ā_ _nogar_ who had burned them to two to small crisps of flesh, smaller than the remains of a babe.

Both Aegon and Aemon had shuddered at the sight and Rhaenys had wept openly, going as far as to ask Aegon and Aemon to travel with her to Hornhill to ask for Lord Tarly’s forgiveness. Sadly, Lord Tarly had shown them nothing more than cold politeness, though his wife and daughters had thanked Rhaenys for coming. Yet even Rhaenys’ idea hadn’t been able to mend the damage between House Tarly and House Targaryen. A moon after their visit, Randyll Tarly had resigned from his position on the small council and had decided to retire to Hornhill…

“ _Silver_ is getting impatient,” an amused and beloved voice remarked, snapping him out of his deep thoughts. “You shouldn’t let him wait too long, brother.”

It was his sister Alyssa, born barely a year after him, who was following after him like a faithful shadow. Unlike Aemon, she had the coloring of a Targaryen, though her hair was more like a tangle of gold rather than the clear silver hair so common in his family.

“Then let him wait,” Aemon replied and cast his gaze to the sky. _Silver_ was a willful beast and he had yet to fully submit to his commands, but they were getting there, ever so slowly. “He needs to learn patience.”

“So, must you, grandson,” his grandmother Rhaella added teasingly, her voice dimmed by the howling mind. “You are both lacking in this virtue.”

It was a truth Aemon would have liked to deny, but hearing such sweet chidings from his grandmother mouth could never be enough to stir resentment in his heart.

“I shall,” he promised instead and kicked his horse in a faster trot, leading it down the sand dune. Alyssa and Daenerys followed closely and not far behind them rode his grandmother, flanked by the castle guards.

“It’s unfair that I can’t go with you,” his Aunt Daenerys complained sourly, her silver hair flapping around her face like the silver wings of his dragon. “I want to see the Wall and visit our Grand-Uncle Aemon.”

_Silver_ , was the name a six-year-old Daenerys had suggested for his dragon and which Aemon had kept, both out of habit and his affection for his Aunt.

Leaving her and his home was not something he relished, but then he was nearly ten and two. Aegon had been eight when he had been sent to Dorne and his father and mother were insistent that Aemon would get to know his family in the North. And while he would have liked to take Daenerys with him he also understood that his grandmother wanted to keep her close to her heart. Viserys’ exile to Lys had broken her heart, but then his father had little choice in the matter. Aemon had felt great sympathy for his Uncle, but he had acted against the King’s command. His father could have chosen to send his Uncle to the Night’s Watch or to Oldtown, but instead he had exiled him to Lys where he could live a life of pleasures and peace.

“It’s only for a few years,” Aemon replied, trying to console her. “And I heard you are going to visit Highgarden. I heard it is a beautiful place. I am sure you are going to like it there.”

“Aemon speaks true,” his grandmother added. “And I heard Lady Margaery Tyrell is a delightful young girl. She will be pleased to have you and Alyssa as her companions.”

“She wants Aegon’s company not ours, grandmother,” Alyssa replied bluntly. She was only eleven and liked playing the adult, but what she liked best was to make fun of the ladies at court. “And recent rumors suggest Lord Mace is praying every day that the High Septon is going to refuse the match between Rhaenys and Aegon, because he yearns to see his pretty flower wed to Aegon.”

“That’s utter nonsense, child,” Aemon heard his grandmother’s heavy voice. “The High Septon gave his approval upon their betrothal six years ago. You ought to consult better sources.”

“Grandmother speaks true,” Aemon agreed and climbed from his saddle, his gaze fixed on _Silver._

Seeing their approach, his ever-trusted childhood companion dipped from the sky, his silver wings glittering in the fading sunlight.

A roar filled Aemon’s ears as _Silver_ landed on the beach, his wings spread wide and a cloud of whirled-up dust hovering over his body.

“Careful,” he whispered to the dragon in High Valyrian. “We are not alone.”

_Silver_ ignored him and sent a plume of smoke into the air, before angling his head towards him, his ruby eyes meeting Aemon’s grey ones.

“Good boy,” Aemon said in a calming tone and patted his jaw. Then, he turned around and jerked his head Daenerys, Alyssa and his grandmother. “Look, we have company.”

This time his dragon seemed to understand him, because he gave another roar and cocked his head to look at Daenerys and Alyssa.

Both girls were familiar to him, though at times Aemon feared he might forget about this fact. _Silver_ might have liked their attentions when he was a fresh hatchling but now he was a fearsome beast that could tear them apart limps and bones.

“Stay with me, girls,” he heard his grandmother’s fearful voice.

“ _Silver_ won’t harm me,” Alyssa complained and was about to step closer, but Daenerys held her back.

“Don’t be foolish,” she chided his sister. “Silver is no longer a pet.”

“Daenerys is right, sister,” Aemon confirmed and leaned closer to whisper a command to _Silver_. Promptly, his dragon moved away and lay down on a nearby dune of sand, his spiky tale wrapped around his body. “ _Silver_ is no longer the pet you used to play with.”

Alyssa frown, but didn’t refuse his embrace or the kiss he placed on her brow.

“Take good care of mother and yourself…,” he whispered to her and received a playful hit on the shoulder.

“I know how to take care of myself,” she grumbled. “It is you I am worried about. The North is no place for dragons.”

“I shall be fine, sister,” Aemon assured her, though he felt a hint of fear when he thought of meeting his Uncle and the proud Northmen.

“Of course, you will,” his grandmother confirmed and placed a kiss on each of his cheeks. Then, she took his face between her hands and smiled at him. “And I have no doubt that you will conduct yourself with honor.”

“I hope I do not disappoint you, grandmother,” Aemon whispered, doubt nagging at the back of his mind.

“You could never disappoint me,” his grandmother replied and chuckled.

At last came Daenerys, who kept on frowning as he drew closer. She was garbed in a velvet dress, her silver hair disheveled and wild.

“Stop that frowning,” he told her and stepped closer, unsure whether a hug would be welcome or not. “That’s not how I want to remember our parting.”

“Me either,” she admitted, her violet eyes softening. “I am not angry with you, but my brother.”

“He is our King,” Aemon reminded her teasingly and leaned closer to embrace her. “And next time we see each other you might have a dragon of your own.”

She gave him a stunned look, her eyes widening in disbelief.

“Does that mean…,” she began, but Aemon silenced her with a smile and a shake of his head.

“Silver laid an egg,” he whispered into her ear and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “This one shall be yours..”

Daenerys gasped in surprise and tightened her grip on his arm.

“Truly?”

“Truly,” he whispered, her warm breath tickling her cheek.

“I thank you,” she replied with heartfelt gratitude and smiled. “Thank you.”

“It is nothing,” he japed and let go of her shoulder. “See it as a belated nameday gift.”

Memorizing her smile, he turned around and called for _Silver_.

He was sure that the memory would warm him on his long travel north.

…


	2. Eddard

**Eddard**

Ned was surprise that his nephew didn’t arrive mounted on his dragon but came riding through the gate like a common man.

“Gods be good,” he heard Cat’s quiet muttering, her voice laced with fear as her blue eyes darted to the silver-winged beast flying circles over the dreary northern sky.

He had of course heard about the dragons hatched in the south, but only now after seeing them with his own eyes did he believe it.

The beast soaring through the sky was a real, fire-breathing dragon.

The inhabitants of the castle seemed to share Cat’s discomfort, their eyes cast to the sky in fear as if they expected the dragon to swoop down to devour them skin and bones.

Only Arya, his wolf pup seemed excited and watched the dragon’s movement greedily while his eldest daughter was hiding behind her brother’s back, though Robb appeared equally stunned by the dragon’s presence.

Ned’s oldest son and heir stared at the beast with wide blue, his mouth slightly agape as the dragon dipped down from the sky and probably landed somewhere on the ridge beyond the castle walls.

“Lord Stark,” Ser Arthur Dayne’s commanding voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Mounted on a grey stead he was leading the procession of men, the banner of House Targaryen fluttering behind his back and in sharp contrast to his white-snow cloak. “Thank you for receiving us here.”

“And the dragon,” a young boy, who was clearly his nephew, added in a quiet and composed voice after he had stopped his horse next to Ser Arthur Dayne.

His nephew was a graceful youth, his face long and pale as if chipped from ice. His soft brown hair falling to his shoulders helped to soften his sharp features, but his dark grey eyes couldn’t hide the fact that this boy had more of the north than Ned’s own children. Robb had Brandon’s smile and nose but had inherited the Tully coloring like his younger siblings Sansa, Bran and Rickon. Only Arya, Ned’s second daughter, had inherited the Stark looks, his sister’s looks. Arya had the same brown hair and the same light grey eyes…

Just thinking about his sister filled his mind with painful memories he had wanted to leave behind him. Memories of a bloody rebellion and what sacrifices it had cost him to stay true to his blood.

That’s in the past, he reminded himself and watched as the rest of his nephew’s retinue poured into the courtyard. _The boy cannot be blamed for what happened between House Stark and House Targaryen._

And as he was about to open his mouth, he noticed a familiar face among the riders, a face like his, long and solemn, the slanted grey-blue eyes the only differentiating feature. Of his siblings only his youngest brother Benjen had inherited their mother’s grey-blue eyes.

“Ned!” the young man exclaimed loudly, his voice echoing over the courtyard as he climbed from his saddle and rushed towards Ned, a warm smile curling on his pale lips. “You look as serious as ever, brother!”

Ned had been so stunned that it took him several heartbeats before he was able to form a proper reply. Taking in Benjen’s appearance, he hardly recognized him. His brother was a far-cry from the boy Ned had sent south to serve as a hostage for House Stark.

They had of course exchanged letters over the years, but words scribbled on a piece of paper was not the same as holding one’s brother in your arms.

Benjen had grown nearly a head and his brown hair was neatly cut and barely longer than Ned’s small finger. His well-kept beard, his polished plate armor covering his athletic form and the pale silken cloak wrapped around his shoulders made him look as if he had been born and bred in the south. Only his Stark features and the snarling direwolf embellished on the black of his brother’s cloak betrayed his belonging to the North.

Ned didn’t know why, but seeing how much his brother had changed, stirred up long buried resentment towards the King.

_First he took my sister and then he took my brother._

_My own brother looks like a stranger._

“Gods, you have grown, Ben,” was all that Ned managed to say after Benjen had released him from his tight embrace. “I hardly recognized you.”

“You have also changed, dear brother,” Benjen replied cheerfully, his grey-blue eyes taking in Ned’s appearance. “For a heartbeat I though father had returned from the grave.”

Ned didn’t know if he should take this as a compliment, but he didn’t want to dim the happiness of Benjen’s return brought him. It had been too long…

“That was a jape,” Benjen said and chuckled, his eyebrows raised in obvious surprise. “Gods, Ned. You are serious as ever. Are you not happy to see me?”

“Your presence is more than welcome, brother,” Ned replied and exchanged a quiet look with Cat. “But you should have informed us about your coming.”

“Uncle Benjen wanted it to be a surprise,” his nephew explained apologetically and frowned at Benjen. “Uncle Benjen should have told me that you don’t like surprises.”

“Don’t fret about it, your grace,” Ned assured his nephew, who seemed to have little of Lyanna’s forward personality. He seemed he had more of his father the King. “I have missed Benjen’s japes.”

“Good to hear,” Benjen added and shifted his attention to Cat and the rest of his children, who had observed their exchange with impatience and curiosity.

“You are beautiful as ever, my Lady,” Benjen complimented and leaned down to place a kiss on Cat’s hand. “You have hardly changed from the day I have taken my leave from Winterfell. Ned is very lucky.”

“That is kind of you to say…” Cat replied softly and pulled her hand away.

Ned noticed the blush on Cat’s cheeks, a far cry from her usual composed demeanor, though what Benjen had said was true. In appearance Cat had hardly changed from the girl he had wed at the Sept of Riverrun, but same couldn’t be said about her character. Cat was no longer the soft-spoken girl his brother Brandon had been betrothed to, but a woman grown and the mother of his children.

Ned and Cat had managed to find contentment in their marriage, but even that couldn’t change the fact that the painful past would always stand between them.

Her father, Lord Hoster Tully had paid for his ambitions with his life and his son Edmure had spent a great part of his youth as a hostage in King’s Landing.

And while it had been King Rhaegar who had spoken the judgement, it were Ned’s actions who had caused his death by choosing his sister over Robert.

It was only right that Cat blamed him, though she would have never voiced such hostile thoughts openly.

“And you must be little Arya!” Benjen’s exclaimed cheerfully and knelt to take in his niece’s appearance, his hand ruffling through her tangle of brown hair. “You really do look a lot like Lyanna.”

“And you look like your father,” Arya giggled and pushed his hand away. “Are you a real knight? Bran says a man from the North cannot be a true knight.”

“Aye,” Benjen confirmed, his kind eyes darting to Bran, who was holding unto Sansa’s hand. He was boy of four and was already dreaming of knighthood. “I am a real knight.”

Bran let go of Sansa’s hand and stepped closer, his blue eyes taking in Benjen’s armor and sword.

“Can I see your sword?” he asked curiously, but Sansa pulled on his shoulder, probably to remind him of his manners.

“Uncle Benjen has no time for such childish things,” his daughter chided her little brother in a soft-spoken tone, but Benjen wasted no time to free his blade and showed it to Bran.

“See, a real blade.”

Satisfied, Bran dipped his head in understanding and smiled.

“I believe you, Uncle.”

“Good to hear that I was deemed innocent,” Benjen added and patted Bran’s head. As he rose back to his feet he took in Sansa and Robb.”

“And you must be Robb,” Benjen said and patted his nephew’s shoulder. “Last time you were still a babe in your mother’s arms.”

Then, he moved on to Sansa and kissed her hand in the manner of a southron knight.

“You have your mother’s beauty, sweet niece,” Benjen complimented her. Sansa, who loved nothing more than the songs of maidens and knights, sighed deeply and blushed, barely able to bring a word over her lips.

“Did I say something wrong?” Benjen asked, but Ned had no chance to answer, because Ser Arthur Dayne decided to interrupt their reunion.

The Sword of the Morning had also changed, his once youthful face harder and covered with fresh scars.

“Forgive me for interrupting your reunion with Ser Benjen, my lord,” Ser Arthur Dayne said and patted Prince’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. It was easy to tell that his nephew was comfortable in Ser Arthur’s presence, but that was no surprise to Ned. His nephew was after all Ser Arthur Dayne’s squire. “But let me present to you Prince Aemon Targaryen…King Rhaegar’s and Princess Lyanna’s son and your nephew.”

His nephew’s previous smile had long vanished, his dark eyes sweeping over his cousins and the rest of the Stark household that had gathered to welcome him.

“Forgive me,” Ned apologized and dipped his head. “Formality would have dictated to greet you first, your grace, but my brother’s return was quite a pleasant surprise and overwhelmed me…” he struggled for the right words. “I hope Winterfell will become your home as it was your mother’s…” Ned trailed off.

Exhaling deeply, Ned cleared his throat and turned to introduce Cat, but his nephew interrupted him.

“Please don’t call me your grace,” he explained and searched Ned’s gaze. “Nobody in my family calls me that. Aemon or nephew should be fine. Or do I have to call you Lord Eddard?”

Ned was slightly taken back by his nephew’s answer, but his words had also managed to ease his concerns regarding his sister’s son.

Ned had feared his nephew would be a spoiled southron Prince but it seemed Lyanna had done right by the boy.

“Of course not,” Ned confirmed, his first true smile washing over his lips. “Uncle should do.”

“That pleases me, Uncle,” his nephew replied, a ghost of a smile curling on his lips as his dark eyes darted to Cat.

“It is a pleasure to have you here, your…nephew,” Cat offered, doing her best to keep Rickon still. He was still a babe, but his tiny arms were trying to reach for the strangers. “Your chambers and a small meal have been prepared for your party. I you must be famished from your long travel north.”

The boy dipped his head, an uneasy smile crossing his lips.

Ned believed to know why.

_The boy has grown up at court. He must know Edmure._

“I thank you, Lady Stark. I have had the honor to know your brother, Ser Edmure. I wish he could have accompanied us here, but he is currently touring the Riverlands in company of my brother Prince Aegon. If all goes well, I am sure my father will soon allow him to regain his rightful position as Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.”

Cat rarely lost her composure, but his nephew’s words must have roused something inside her. Her face was as pale as curled milk and her lips trembled with emotion.

Ned knew why. For a long time they had feared that King Rhaegar might never return Lord Edmure to his rightful position, but it seemed Ned had misjudged the King in this matter, though it couldn’t completely remove the resentment he harbored towards his sister’s husband.

 _Not now_ , he reminded himself and shifted his attention back to his wife and nephew.

“That would please me, nephew,” Cat replied at last and jerked her head at their children.

As always, it was Arya who used the moment to speak.

“What is the name of your dragon?” Arya asked as bluntly, a question that had probably been lingering on her tongue from the moment she had laid eyes on the dragon.

“Silver,” his nephew replied, a smile returning to his lips. “His name is silver.”

Arya giggled, unable to hide her opinion.

“That is a silly name for a dragon. A dragon should have a fearsome name.”

Surprisingly, his nephew started to chuckle, his face suddenly alight with amusement. In that moment, he looked like Lyanna, his dark grey eyes alight with warmth as he regarded Arya more closely.

“My sister Rhaenys said the same, but my Aunt would be very cross with me if I changed my dragon’s name. It was her idea to call him Silver.”

Arya giggled.

“It is still a silly same.”

“Do not listen to Arya,” Sansa added softly and fiddled nervously with the hem of her dress. “It is a very fitting name. His wings remind me of starlight. There is a flower with that name.”

“It’s a dragon we are talking about…not a flower, stupid!” Arya snapped back, but Robb didn’t hesitate to step in.

“I think that’s quite enough, Arya,” Robb chided and pulled his sister backwards, before this simple interaction ended up in another heated quarrel.

As Robb shifted his attention to his cousin he smiled warmly.

“Do not be disturbed by my sisters, cousin. They are constantly waging war against each other, but you will get used to it in time.”

Arya chuckled proudly as if Robb had praised her and Sansa blushed.

“My sisters are similar,” his nephew replied understandingly and smiled first at Robb and then at Sansa. “Rhaenys and Alyssa are like cat and dog, but at the end of the day they still like each other, though they would never admit to it.”

Sansa seemed reassured by his words and returned his smile.

“Arya is the one who never admits to it.”

“Says the one who asked mother whether she found me in the woods…,” Arya was about to snap back, but Robb held her back.

“Calm your wrath, little sister,” Robb said and ruffled her head. “You are scaring our prince.”

 “I am not easily scared,” his nephew assured him and grinned. It seemed Ned’s fears had been unfounded.

Robb and the boy will make fast friends, he realized as he saw his nephew and son exchange a handshake.

“I am Robb,” he introduce himself. “I am glad they send you to us. I am in dire need of a sparring partner. Bran and Rickon are babies and Arya, well Arya is a girl.”

“So what!” Arya exclaimed and dealt Robb a hit on the shoulder. “Girls can fight too!”

Robb laughed, obviously unbothered by Arya’s actions.

“Quite right,” his nephew agreed with amusement and leaned towards Arya. “My sister Alyssa would agree with you, my lady.”

“That’s good to hear,” Arya replied approvingly and pulled on his nephew’s cloak. “But do not call me my lady. I prefer Arya.”

“Arya it is then,” his nephew confirmed and ruffled his hand through Arya’s hair.

She giggled and brushed his hand away, before bolting away as quickly as a squirrel.

“Arya doesn’t like to be called a lady,” Bran explained, his blue eyes eying Ser Arthur Dayne, who had observed their exchange in silence. “She wants to be a knight, but girls cannot be knights.”

“And mayhaps that is a mistake,” Ser Arthur Dayne added jestingly, but when is gaze fell on Ned his expression hardened. “I have met many a woman who would have made a fine knight.”

 _He is speaking about my sister_ , Ned realized and dipped his head in understanding.

“Such is the way in Dorne, isn’t it?” Ned asked in return. “I heard the Queen’s niece won a tourney.”

“Aye,” his nephew confirmed almost cheerfully, all tension seemingly gone from his demeanor. “She is a masterful jouster. She disguised herself as a knight and sent all the other competitors kissing the dirt. Like mother.”

Bran gave his nephew a stunned look and Robb chuckled.

“I would have liked to see that.”

“I was there,” his nephew told them proudly. “Aegon and I were rolling with laughter when she crowned Rhaenys Queen of Love and Beauty. The other competitors were less pleased, being bested by a woman.”

“Then she must be very brave,” Sansa added awkwardly. “I wasn’t aware that the Princess of Dorne was such a fearsome warrior.”

Suddenly, his nephew burst out in laughter. “Oh, gods no. I think you are mistaken, my lady. I wasn’t speaking about Princess Arianne, but Lady Obara Sand, the natural daughter of Prince Oberyn Martell, the Queen’s brother.”

Sansa blushed in embarrassment and was about to dip her head, but his nephew gave her an assuring smile.

“It happens, my lady.”

Yet his answer didn’t seem much of a consolation to Sansa. She looked very distraught about her mistake.

Arya was about to open her mouth when Cat called her to her side.

Ned used the moment to comfort Sansa.

“Don’t fret, sweetling,” he assured her. “It was an honest mistake. How about you and Robb show your cousin the way to his chambers?”

“I will show you!” Arya exclaimed loudly and entangled herself from Cat’s grip.

She had already crossed half of the courtyard when she turned around.

“What are you waiting for? I am sure none of you is able to catch me!”

Neither Brandon or Robb needed more encouragement than that to storm after his sister, their laughter echoing over the courtyard.

“Wait, little sister! I will get you!”

Even Sansa gathered her skirts and dropped her lady-like demeanor, before storming off after Arya.

It was all the encouragement his somber nephew needed, before storming after the wild brood, as Cat liked to call their children when they were particularly troublesome.

“Well, that went better than I could have hoped,” Benjen remarked with a sigh. “The boy was afraid you might be displeased with his presence here.”

Ned was taken back by Benjen’s comment.

“Why would he think that?”

“You know why, my lord,” Ser Arthur Dayne added accusingly. “All the boy knows about you are stories from his mother’s mouth and from dusty history books. Visiting your sister now and then might have helped.”

Ned couldn’t help but to frown.

“I am the Lord of Winterfell. My place is in the North.”

“No one contests that fact,” Ser Arthur Dayne replied, his voice laced with suppressed anger. “The Princess Lyanna had hoped you would be at least attend the tourney in honor of Princess Alyssa’s betrothal to Lord Renly Baratheon.”

“Tourneys are not to my taste,” Ned replied politely. “And there was a pressing issue that I had to attend to.”

“As you say, but it seems there are always pressing issues,” Ser Arthur countered. Ned knew that Ser Arthur had only done his duty when he slew Robert, but it didn’t help to ease the guilt clenching around Ned’s heart. “I did not come here to quarrel and there are important matters we need to address.”

Ned nodded his head.

“As you wish…a cup of wine and a warm hearth awaits you, Ser Arthur. It seems the cold is getting to you.”

Ser Arthur nodded his head and rubbed his shoulders, mist rising from his lips like smoke.

“I am a Dornishman, but I suppose I will get used to this goddamn cold.”

Settled before the crackling hearth, a smile returned to Ser Arthur’s lips.

“Forgive my harsh words,” Ser Arthur said and took a sip from his cup of mulled wine. “But Princess Lyanna has become dear to me and the Prince as well. It also distraughts the King to see you both estranged from each other.

_And who’s fault is that? Certainly not mine…_

Ned frowned, unwilling to discuss such personal matters with Ser Arthur Dayne.

“I understand, Ser Arthur, but I would prefer to get to the real reason you wanted to speak with me.”

“Prince Aemon will return to the capital when he is of age and the King hopes that by then you might consider his offer to join his council. The King has done his best to reconcile with the other rebel lords, but your lack of appearance in the capital gives the appearance that you are still holding resentment against the King.”

Ned couldn’t help but to laugh about Ser Arthur’s comment.

“Has it ever occurred to you that my behavior is intentional, Ser Arthur?” Ned asked, his voice laced with bitterness.

“Ned…,” Benjen was about to interrupt him, but a waved of Ser Arthur’s hand was enough to silence his brother.

“I do not care about your personal feelings, my lord. Hold your grudge until your dying day for all I care, but the Prince’s safety and future are of a great concern to our King. Prince Aegon has his mother’s family to support him, but your nephew you has no one other than himself to depend on. He would profit greatly from your presence at court. The King hoped that you might share his opinion in this matter, but it seems he misjudged you greatly.”

“Ser Arthur speaks true, brother,” Benjen added chidingly. “It is time to leave the past behind us and to reconcile with House Targaryen. _Winter is coming_ , brother. The Maesters say it will be the longest winter in a thousand years and to face this winter we need to stand united. The North is part of this unity whether you like it or not.”

Ned gritted his teeth in displeasure.

 _Winter is coming_ , he recalled the words of his house. And it wasn’t like Benjen was wrong. The harvest had been plentiful this year, but the heavy snowfalls had been worrisome…

“The fact that I allowed my nephew to come here should be enough proof to the King’s allies that I shall always support my blood,” Ned replied accusingly. _Without me Robert would sit the Iron Throne_ , he wanted to add, but kept that to himself. “I proved my loyalty during the rebellion, did I not?”

“You did,” Ser Arthur granted him and placed his cup back on the table. “But the rebellion happened twelve years ago. The troubles of the past are not the troubles of today, my lord. The Ironborn have been raiding the Shield Islands and two of Balon Greyjoy’s son were killed in an engagement with the Redwyne fleet. And only recently the King was forced to exile his own brother Prince Viserys for attempting to wed Lady Joanna Baratheon. This led to a quarrel between the King and the Queen Mother, who has yet to return from her retreat at Dragonstone. This should give you good taste of the troubles his grace has to contend with and is the reason the King wishes for reconciliation with all of the former rebel lords.”

“Sending our nephew here and allowing me to return to Winterfell is the first step to this reconciliation, Ned,” Benjen added hopeful. “No one asks you to reply at once, but think about it Ned. For our nephew’s sake. For Lyanna’s sake.”

Ned sighed in frustration and leaned back in his chair. He had already sacrificed so much for Lyanna’s sake.

When will it be enough?

“I shall think about it,” Ned replied at last. “For my nephew’s sake.”

Benjen smiled in relief and even Ser Arthur’s hard features softened as he lifted his cup.

“For Prince Aemon’s sake,” he said and brought the cup to his lips, drinking deeply. “Now you, my lord.”

Ned frowned and lifted his cup.

“For my nephew’s sake.”

…


	3. Daenerys

**Daenerys**

Dany watched as her small dragon opened its jaw and blew a plume of smoke into the air. Sadly, the little dragon was not yet strong enough to produce a proper flame and thus she had to pick up the piece of meat and roast it the flames of the brazier.

It didn’t take long before the color of the meat changed to a black color and the little dragon was drawn to her by the smell of his supper. Excited, the little dragon wagged his spiky tail and slithered over the table, before devouring the piece of meat. His small sharp teeth made quick work of the meat, blood and pieces of flesh spilling over the white table.

The little dragon gave a chirp and flapped his wings, making his audience laugh.

“Well done,” Dany praised the little beast and patted his head, before brushing her hand over his back. His smoky skin felt like hot coals and was flecked with gold, which suited the little dragon’s bright yellow eyes. Sometimes, they reminded her of the eyes of a cat and at other times they reminded her of running honey. “Well done.”

“I think he is still hungry,” Margaery Tyrell added cheerfully, her lazy brown locks falling over her pale shoulders. She was as beautiful as a spring day, her face round and rosy-lipped. Her golden almond-shaped eyes glittered as she leaned closer, but as always the little beast avoided her and bolted away, climbing up Dany’s naked shoulder. She winced at the touch of his scales on her skin, but it was worth the pain if it meant her little beast was happy.

In truth his name was Rhaegon, but even her dragon seemed to prefer his nickname.

“Forgive the little beast,” Dany apologized for his rude behavior and graced Lady Margaery with a warm smile. “He is a bit shy.”

Margaery pouted, but a moment later she was smiling again and brushed her curled hair over her shoulders.

“I heard Prince Aegon’s dragon is red,” she remarked and leaned her head on her crossed arms. “What is the name of his dragon again?”

“Prince Aegon’s dragon is called Ānogar,” Dany explained. “It means blood in High Valyrian.”

Margaery nodded her head in understanding, her almond-shaped eyes darting to her cousins Elinor, Megga and Alla, who were engrossed by an archery contest between Alyssa, Lord Renly Baratheon and Lady Margaery’s brother, Loras Tyrell.

Over the past year, Dany had had the honor to get to know each of these girls. Alla was a shy and pretty girl with golden hair and looked almost like a mouse compared to Megga, who was rather fat and very loud. Elinor was the most charming of the three, though at times she could be quite self-centered. Dany had done her best to cultivate a friendship and by her own estimation she had been quite successful. She and Alla had bonded over their interest in poetry while Megga shared Dany’s love for cakes. Elinor had been easy to win over. She liked everything pretty, be it dresses or jewels, and that was something Dany had aplenty.

Lady Margaery was much different from her cousins, so much Dany had realized after their first meeting. She knew her smiles and courtesies better than a mummer, but there was more to her than that. No, Margaery Tyrell had what her grandmother liked to call “a girl with a proper head on her shoulders” something her son Lord Mace Tyrell supposedly lacked. Dany had met Lord Tyrell, but beyond a certain vain character, she had found him an amiable man, albeit his flattery could overbearing at times.

Truly, it was no wonder that some at court had speculated the King might consider marrying her nephew Aegon to Lady Margaery Tyrell.

“Well done, my Lord Baratheon…my turn,” Dany heard Loras Tyrell’s cheerful voice ringing in her ears as he picked up an arrow. Like his sister Margaery, Loras Tyrell was graced with great beauty, his pleasant face framed by brown curls and his eyes bright as gold.

Ever gracefully, Lords pulled back the string, before releasing the arrow upon the colorful wooden plates fastened on straw balls. The arrow snapped through the air and barely missed the red point in the middle.

The audience clapped their approval, but the frown on Loras Tyrell’s face told Dany that he was not satisfied with his performance.

All the Tyrell children were gifted in their own way, but Loras was the golden boy of the family and always determined to do his best; perfectionism was his greatest aim. From a young age Loras had managed to best older boys in swordplay, which was only surpassed by his abilities in horsemanship. Why the young man was so eager to squire for Lord Renly Baratheon was still a mystery to her, because the Lord of the Stormlands had nothing of his fearsome brother, Lord Robert Baratheon.

Lord Renly was a handsome man with jet-black hair and cheerful green eyes, which had earned him many admirers among the ladies at court, though he hardly paid them any attention. Alyssa was an exception, but that might stem from the fact that she seemed to hold the same affection for Ser Loras as Lord Renly. Ever since, Dany and Alyssa had arrived here in Highgarden they had become some sort of inseparable trio. They did everything together. They went hunting, practiced archery and at times Alyssa was even allowed to join their swordplay lessons.

“Don’t frown, Loras,” Renly assured him and patted his squires’ shoulder. “Perfectionism is overrated.”

Loras bared his pearl-white teeth to the world and was about to open his mouth when Alyssa pried the bow from his hands.

“Oh, stop coddling him, my Lord!” Alyssa teased gently and unleashed an arrow. “Or he will remain a squire until he is old and grey. Watch and learn, Lord Tyrell.”

The arrow snapped through the air and missed the middle. It was no bad hit, but it seemed Alyssa had overestimated her abilities.

Not that Alyssa seemed to care. Her smile was bright as ever as she handed the bow to Lord Renly, who leaned down to place a kiss on her hand, though it was done in a mocking manner as if they were playing a mummery. Alyssa returned the gesture and dropped a deep curtsy, though she was dressed in breeches, a tunic and riding boots.

They were a strange pair.

Lord Renly had a taste for lavish clothing such as the dark green velvet doublet he had chosen to wear today. The rich golden embroidery around the neck and the cuffs must have cost a fortune, but that was nothing compared to the cloth-of-gold cap he liked to drape around his shoulders and was fastened with an emerald brooch.

Alyssa on the other hand, looked almost plain in her silken white tunic, shiny black breeches and dirty boots, though her hair was for a change properly braided.

Despite these differences, Lord Renly and Alyssa seemed happy with their lot, though at times she couldn’t help but to notice the sharp looks Loras was giving Alyssa.

“A beautiful pair, aren’t they?” Lady Olenna or commonly called the Queen of Thorns, remarked gleefully. She was a small woman with snow-white hair and soft, spotted hands that were never still. Whether it was playing cyvasse or waving her cane, she was always occupied.

At first, Dany hadn’t known what to make of Lady Olenna’s blunt tongue, but by now she found no greater pleasure than to listen to the elderly woman’s rants.

Dany smiled as she angled her head to look at the elderly woman. She was seated a few feet away, deeply sunken in a cushioned seat made of plush and dark wood. Her infamous cane carved from red cherrywood was placed next to her feet and above her head spread a baldachin made of rich green silk and accentuated with golden roses.

Beneath her feet sat three golden-locked girls, one of the many Tyrell or Redwyne offspring, though Dany had long given up on memorizing them by name.

“Princess Lyanna was very skeptical about the match, but it seems Alyssa and Lord Renly are getting along better than expected.”

“A stag and a dragon,” the Queen of Thorns muttered in agreement. “Who would have thought that something like that could happen again after all the headaches Lord Renly’s brother gave us. All his allies advised the King to tear down House Baratheon, but instead he called Lord Renly to court and allowed him to grow up with his heir. A merciful act, but foolish too. One of these days the King is going to regret this decision... I feel it in my bones, dear girl.”

Dany was a bit taken by her words, though she partly agreed. Even her Lady Mother had advised her brother against this match and had suggested to wed Alyssa to Quentyn Martell. Dany had met the Prince only once and while he had lacked Renly Baratheon’s beauty, he had been a pleasant person. She also believed that Alyssa would have fared better among the Dornish, who didn’t frown at a woman with an interest in swordplay.

Yet Dany knew it wouldn’t please her Lady Mother if she bared these thoughts to Lady Olenna.

“My brother the King wishes to reconcile with the rebel lords,” she explained. “And the fact that Aegon is fond of Lord Renly helps. I suppose the King hopes that Renly will become a loyal ally to Aegon once succeeds his father.”

“Well, I hope that won’t happen before I kiss the dirt,” the old woman muttered and frowned mistrustfully at the silver plate covered with all sorts of cheese.

“Where did you get that from, girl?” she asked the servant girl. “It smells as if you pulled it out of a goat’s ass.”

The girl nearly dropped the silver plate and paled visibly.

“It is cheese is from a goat…,” the girl stuttered, but the Queen of Thorns silenced her with a firm look.

“I know that smell,” the Queen of Thorns said and smiled at the star-struck girl. “Take it away. I cannot stomach this kind of food at this time of the day. I do not wish to kill the girl in charge of my chamber pot. Bring us…,” she began, but stopped abruptly, before turning back to Dany and Margaery, who had observed their whole exchange in silence. “What does your heart desire, Princess? It is one of your last days here…”

“Cake,” Dany replied, which was probably not much of a surprise to the old Lady. “I heard the strawberries are in bloom.”

“Indeed,” Margaery agreed in delight. “I would like some last piece of strawberry cake before I am departing for King’s Landing, grandmama.”

“Strawberry cake it is!” the Queen of Thorns declared and the girl was about to depart, but then she suddenly grabbed her cane and blocked the girl’s path, nearly causing her to stumble over it.

Dany had a hard time to keep herself from breaking out in laughter. Watching the Queen of Thorns rule her court of roses was better entertainment than all the mummers lingering at her brother’s court.

“And bring the board of cyvasse,” she added and turned to look at Dany. “You owe me one last game, dear child. I fear it will be a long time before he we can play again.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Dany agreed and smoothed her hand over her dragon’s body still curled around her arm. “I shall miss our games.”

The Queen of Thorns chuckled. “Keep your flattery to yourself, dear girl. I know that you are keen to leave and I can’t even blame you. All these flowers and goat cheese must be boring for a young girl like you. It will be good for you and Margaery to leave this place behind you.”

“Well, I shall miss you dearly, grandmama,” Margaery added gently and forced a kiss on Lady Olenna’s cheek. “And Highgarden, though I shall be pleased to be in Willas’ presence. It has been too long that I have seen my dear brother.”

Willas Tyrell, Lord Mace Tyrell’s eldest son currently occupied the position of Master of Coin, one of the youngest men to ever rise to this position, though that didn’t seem to hinder his success. The realm’s finances were in good hands, though the plentiful harvests of the last years had helped. Dany didn’t know Willas Tyrell well, but his crippled leg ailed him often and despite his good birth he had yet to marry.

“Willas will be pleased,” the Queen of Thorns agreed and shooed Margaery away after she had spotted the girl, carrying a gilded box engraved with a golden rose. “Now sit down and lend me your help, granddaughter. I want to win this last match.”

Margaery chuckled and sat down next to Lady Olenna while Dany took the box from the servant girl’s hands and opened it.

Inside she found the colorful tiles and units she was soon arranging on the table. By the time Dany had lost her first match the cake and the tea had arrived, but that didn’t stop them Dany from playing another round.

Thus, they played another around while Lady Margaery sipped on her tea and whispered into Lady Olenna’s ear. Dany was also offered tea, but she had always preferred sweetened wine and was content to devour a piece of cake. The fresh taste of the strawberries renewed her confidence and this time she managed to win.

“It seems your King is dead, my lady,” she declared happily and received a frown from Lady Olenna. “I should have paid more attention to that dragon of yours. I suppose roses are not much of a challenge for a dragon? Well, I demand one last match, dear girl.”

Dany nodded her head and soon they were re-arranging their pieces on the board. This last deciding game was fiercer than expected. Dany lost several of her best units early on, but then she managed to take Lady Olenna’s spearman and elephant.

“Damn that dragon!” the elderly woman cursed and woke the little beast from his slumber. He gave a loud chirp and spread his wings wide, calling for her attention.

“I didn’t mean you,” the old woman added and pointed at the little beast. “Don’t give me that insulted look.”

Her little beast seemed satisfied with this answer and lowered his head. Then, he took flight and landed on the neatly-cut grass, before starting to dig out flowers and unleashing a small current of flames on the ground.

“And there go my flowers,” the Queen of Thorns remarked and moved her pieces over the board. “Now move your pieces!”

Dany had foreseen this movement and countered appropriately. Two more turns followed and she managed to finally get the King.

“Well done, dear child,” the Queen of Thorns complimented and tapped her cane on the ground. “It seems your time here was not wasted.”

Dany chuckled and placed the pieces and tiles back in the wooden box, before handing it back to the servant girl.

“I am sure my lady mother will be pleased to hear it,” Dany replied, her eyes always fixed on her little beast. “Though she sent me here to become a proper southron lady and not to learn cyvasse.”

“Life is like a game of cyvasse,” Lady Margaery added as if she read this quote in some old dusty book. “At least that is what my brother Willas likes to say.”

“I hope your brother is right,” Dany replied and leaned over to pat Lady Margaery’s head. Before coming here, she had imagined Lady Margaery as some spoiled and stuck-up girl, but by now she had become a trusted companion. “I have always preferred the solace of Dragonstone to King’s Landing. It doesn’t feel like home.”

“Well, you won’t have to stay here forever,” Lady Margaery remarked. “Even I am only going there to find a proper husband.”

Dany was surprised by her remark, because she believed to know who she was talking about. Her lady mother may have denied it when Alyssa brought it up, but it seemed the Tyrells had not yet given up their hopes for a crown.

Not that it was such a far-fetched idea. Mace Tyrell had stood loyal to the King after the rebel lords had raised their banners. He may be a “lowly steward” as some of her brother’s allies like to jape, but he had an army of fifty-thousand swords and wealth that might even surpass Lord Tywin Lannister’s heaps of gold. And after getting to know Lady Margaery, Dany could easily picture her as a gracious Queen, though that position was meant to be occupied by her niece Rhaenys. From an early age on, Queen Elia had trained her to be Aegon’s Queen, though at times Dany had the feeling that Rhaenys was only playing along to please her ailing mother.

“Speaking of husbands,” Lady Olenna added and clucked her tongue as she her sly green eyes met Dany’s. “Our Willas has yet to be wed. I admit he is no gallant knight like our Garlan, but comely enough. My dear son, Lord Pufffish had hoped you might consider marrying him.”

Dany was not surprised by the offer. She had been a guest in Highgarden for a year and she knew Lord Willas from her time at court. It was only natural that the Tyrells might entertain such a match, even if that was another lost cause. Her brother the King had told her a long time ago that her wed to her nephew Aemon.

And while Dany was sure her soft-hearted brother wouldn’t never force her, she had never felt any urge to voice opposition against the match. Aemon and Dany had always gotten along, though at times she wondered about the future. She recalled her nephew as this sweet and melancholic boy her brother had sent to the distant North. What if he had turned into an icy Northman? Would she still feel the same way…

“Daenerys,” Lady Margaery’s soft voice snapped her back to the present. Dany blushed in embarrassment and feigned a smile.

“I heard you,” Dany answered and met Lady Olenna’s piercing gaze. “But the King has another match in mind…,” she trailed off, realizing that she had said too much.

“Indeed,” the Queen of Thorns confirmed and smiled slyly. “Well, I already knew beforehand that this would be another lost cause. The King is certainly dedicated to those old Targaryen traditions. First the betrothal between Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon and now you and your nephew. I think our gracious King sometimes forgets that King Aerys was the result of such an unholy union.”

Dany knew her father only from stories and her lady mother usually acted as if he had never existed, but Dany had never associated the madness of her father with the practice of incest. Her mother, her brothers and Dany herself stemmed from such an unholy marriage and neither had turned out mad, though she knew that her mother had nursed such fears regarding Viserys. And while her brother had a hot temper and was often blinded by his goddamn pride, Dany had never perceived as mad.

“I am also a child of such an unholy union,” Dany remarked sweetly and received an approving smile from Lady Olenna.

“Clever answer, dear child. I am aware this fact, but can you fault Lord Pufffish for hoping that the King might change his mind? The Tyrells have always been loyal to House Targaryen and yet the Queen’s family still mocks us as the “lowly stewards”. All that differentiates us from the Martells is a pinch of dragonblood.”

Dany had never heard the Queen of Thorns’ speak with such vitriol, but then she believed that her anger stemmed from another source: The unfortunate accident of her grandson at the hand of Prince Oberyn Martell.

“And the fact that they can call themselves Princes and Princesses,” Margaery added in amusement. “A right they defended in many bloody wars.”

“Bloody indeed,” the Queen of Thorns agreed heatedly and plucked a cup of wine from the silver tray presented to her by one of the page boys. “Bloody useless if you want to hear my opinion on this matter. Tell me, dear granddaughter. How many widows wailed because the Yellow Toad of Dorne wouldn’t submit to Aegon? All these rivers of blood to call yourself Prince and Princess? A waste of time and human lives I call it. Of course, we Tyrells cannot boast with such a proud and bloody history, but look at us now. Have we not done well by submitting to the Targaryens? Our wealth surpasses the wealth of House Martell and yet we are lesser, because we don’t carry the name Prince and Princess? Nonsense I say. It is all nonsense.”

“Calm yourself, lady grandmother,” Margaery chided gently and patted her shoulder. “You are embarrassing Princess Daenerys. The Queen Elia is her good-sister…,” she continued, but the Queen of Thorn’s sharp glanced silenced her.

“I am well aware of that fact, granddaughter,” the Queen of Thorns continued to rant. “But it was not my intention to insult the Queen, but merely to give Princess Daenerys a taste of the truth. The fact is, that House Martell believes that they fought a lone in the rebellion. If I remember correctly it were Lord Eddard Stark, Lord Tywin Lannister and the Kingslayer who did the most work. Lord Eddard Stark undermined the rebel’s effort by betraying Lord Baratheon and it was Lord Tywin who took the capital. And yet Lord Tywin is still banished from court and Lord Eddard Stark has yet to set a foot into King’s Landing.”

“Lord Tywin may have taken down the King, but the secret marriage between Cersei Lannister and Lord Robert Baratheon revealed him as a traitor,” Margaery added in amusement. “And now he only lives by the King’s grace.”

“By the King’s soft heart you mean,” the Queen of Thorns added sharply as her golden eyes darted back to Dany, who had tried her best to follow her ranting. “The King should have cut off the lions head and be done with it. Listen to a woman, who has lived longer than anyone in this castle. The sheep are never safe as long as the lion prowls freely.”

Then, she exhaled deeply, a mild smile curling on her lips.

“What do you say to that, dear child?”

It sounded almost like a challenge.

Dany smiled and took a sip from her cup.

“Dragons feed on stags and lions alike, my Lady. And my brother the King was smart enough to keep the Kingslayer in the Kingsguard. He probably hoped that Lord Tywin will be felled by his old age.”

“And yet he is still among us,” Lady Olenna replied approvingly and leaned back in her chair. “I tell you. Lord Tywin will live longer than me. The King ought to reconcile with him too. Some say Cersei Lannister’s widowhood has not dimmed her beauty one bit. Mayhaps your brother should consider taking a third wife?”

Margaery chuckled and clucked her tongue.

“I doubt the Queen and Princess Lyanna would like that. I heard Cersei Lannister roars like a lion.”

“Princess Lyanna has the fangs of a wolf,” Dany countered, enjoying herself. “And Queen Elia has the Viper of Dorne at her disposal. I want to see how Cersei Lannister takes on all three of them. Besides, the fact that my brother Viserys tried to wed Lady Joanna Baratheon against the King’s will makes it impossible to reconcile with Lord Tywin.”

“And yet it would serve your nephew’s future,” Lady Olenna countered. “One day he will be King and the Martells won’t be enough to keep him on that spiky throne of his. He has a dragon, but even dragons can die as the Dance taught us.”

“Aegon will have the help of his siblings and mine,” Dany replied determinedly and glanced over to her little beast, curled on his heap of scorched flowers. “And Rhaenys’ will be a good Queen. Four dragons should keep Aegon safe enough from his enemies.”

The Queen of Thorns smiled and lifted her cup.

“May it be so, sweet child. May it be so.”

…


	4. Rhaenys

**Rhaenys**

The sun was beginning to descend behind the horizon when a familiar smell filled her nostrils. It was the smell of sweat and fish, of salt and spice. It was the smell of King’s Landing.

For Rhaenys, it was a smell that caused her displeasure after spending nearly nine moons in Dorne, her mother’s birth place. Over the last three moons she had travelled through Dorne, among it places like Sunspear, Yronwood, Starfall and even Hellholt, the very place where Queen Rhaenys Targaryen and her dragon Meraxes had found an early grave, though contrary to the Conqueror’s Queen she had been welcomed warmly, which was no surprise, given that Lady Ellaria Sand, her Uncle’s lover, was the bastard daughter of old Lord Harmen Uller.

Rhaenys would lie to herself if she hadn’t enjoyed her time in Dorne to the fullest, but her mother and Aegon would think ill of her if she were stay away too long.

 _You need to stop your listless adventuring_ , her Lady Mother had told her on her last visit.  _You are soon to be a Queen._

Rhaenys had only nodded in silence like she always did when her mother was planning her future. Ever since, Rhaenys had been able to understand the meaning of the title “Princess” she had known what was expected of her: to be Aegon’s Queen and to bear heirs of Targaryen blood. That was at least how her father and mother envisioned it, but at times Rhaenys felt the urge to leave everything behind her. Sometimes, she just wanted to mount her dragon and fly far away, perhaps to the Free Cities, to Asshai or even further than that to the edge of the horizon. Mayhaps she was not meant to be a Queen, but and explorer of faraway lands.

 _Why else would the gods give me a dragon_ , she thought a she leaned down to touch Shadowing’s head.

She had given him this name for his obsidian wings and scales. Only his head and spiky tale showed bits and pieces of crimson dots that fitted well to his blood-red eyes. His flames were equally bright and reminiscent of blood.  _Bloodflame_ , was another name she had considered after beholding her dragons’ beautiful flames, but by then Shadowing had gotten used to his name.

“Down, my sweet,” she whispered to her dragon as she laid eyes on King’s Landing, a city that should feel like home to her, but wasn’t.

Yet it didn’t dim the breathtaking view. From the back of her dragon everything appeared small, as if the square-shaped outline of the city was nothing more than a toy castle.

Only when once she descended did the world around her grew clearer. She saw manses, arbors, storehouses, timbered inns, merchant stalls, taverns and brothels.

There was the fish market and the harbor with hits numerous quays, giving the city its familiar smell of fish and salt. When she was a young child the city had been penetrated by the perpetual smell of shit and piss, but her father’s effort to renew the sewer system had improved the smell of the city.

“Down, towards home,” Rhaenys whispered to her dragon, who immediately changed direction, soaring over the Blackwater Rush. Rhaenys smiled as she spotted the three hills, named after Aegon and his two sisters, Visenya and Rhaenys. Aegon’s High Hill was surmounted by the Red Keep, overlooking the bay while Visenya’s Hill was crowned by the marble-welled Great Sept of Baelor and its seven crystal towers. It was a beautiful sight to behold, but even more impressive was the sight of the Dragonpit dome. It was almost too much space for three dragons, but then they were also the first ones to be born in more than a century. That Shadowing had already lain two eggs promised more dragons, though at times Rhaenys feared such a future. She had learned to control Shadowing, but that didn’t mean her dragon couldn’t pose a danger for others. The death of Dickon Tarly and his companions had proved that.

Even so, House Targaryen needed dragons. There was no turning back.

“There,” she reminded her dragon and directed him towards the Dragonpit. Shadowing roared loudly, though it was one of those roars that told her he was happy. Whenever he was angry he would throw flames into the air or a low cawing sound. No, it seemed her sweetling was more than happy to return home. “Lower.”

As her dragon dipped lower towards the opened dome he flapped his wings vigorously. Rhaenys held close unto his back and squeezed her eyes. It felt as if she found herself in the middle of a terrible storm, but like always it only lasted for a heartbeat, before Shadowing landed on the moss-covered ground.

“Well done, sweetling,” she complimented her dragon and stretched her feet, before climbing down her dragon’s spiky back. Her feet and body felt numb from the long flight. “Well done.”

Shadowing seemed to appreciate her praise and roared loudly as he angled his head towards her, his ruby eyes meeting hers. Rhaenys smiled and stepped closer to brush her hand over his jaw. The rough surface of his skin felt scalding like coals. When he opened his mouth, a row of sharp teeth glittered in front of her. Teeth that could easily tear her a part, but didn’t. Instead he pushed his head against her body and nearly caused her to stumble backwards.

Having achieved this, her sweetling roared loudly and strutted away, his spiky tail raised in pride.

It might sound odd, but at times the dragons felt like humans to her. She could almost imagine Shadowing laughing at her.

“Do you have need of assistance, my beautiful Princess?” a familiar and teasing voice caused her to turn around.

“Brother,” she said and took in Aegon’s changed appearance. He had grown at least a head taller and his silver-blond air reached now nearly below his shoulders. His features had also grown sharper and a hint of silver was blooming on his jaw. It was hard to believe, but only a year had passed since then.

Time had passed so quickly and somehow the little silver-haired boy she liked to carry on her shoulders had turned into a man.

“Don’t you recognize me, sweet sister?” Aegon asked and bared his white teeth to the world. “Have I changed so much?”

Rhaenys smiled.

“Well, you have grown a lot. In your presence I almost feel like a babe,” she explained and walked towards him.

Her answer seemed to please him.

“You were always on the small side, sister, “ Aegon remarked teasingly and touched her cheek. “But that doesn’t dim your beauty.”

Rhaenys rolled her eyes, though there was no denial about her lack of size. She had inherited that from her mother’s family, though the times had long passed since it was a bother to her. The polite Princess she had once been had faded away when she had hatched her dragon. Size was just another obstacle that didn’t matter when she had Shadowing at her side.

“Keep your flattery to yourself,” Rhaenys replied and brushed his hand away. “I am not one of mother’s pretty little daisies.”

“You are more like a rose…you are so thorny,” Aegon added and laughed. “I had hoped my gracious beast would be here to greet you, but he decided to leave us. I am sure he will be back on the morrow.”

Rhaenys nodded her head in understanding and followed him down the stony steps leading towards one of the large bronze doors guarding the Dragonpit. “What about Daenerys’ dragon? Is he not here?”

“Daenerys left a moon ago,” Aegon explained and took two steps at once. “To visit our grandmother. She took her dragon with her. He has grown quite a bit, but it will take at least take another year before she can even think about mounting him.”

“All good takes its time,” Rhaenys replied and could only imagine how excited Daenerys must be. She had waited long enough to receive an egg, though her dragon had hatched rather quickly compared to the first three eggs, the ones their father the King had found in in Summerhall. “Once she mounts that dragon she is never going to climb down. Still, that continuing feud between grandmother and father bothers me. I have been gone for nearly a whole year and nothing has changed.”

Aegon’s smile faded immediately.

“You know grandmother. She is a stubborn woman and she swore that she wouldn’t return to King’s Landing until our father lifts our Uncle’s exile,” Aegon explained and waved his hand at three approaching men.

They were all garbed in polished armor, their cloaks red like the dying sunset. These were the Dragonkeepers, assigned to guard the dragons, though at times Rhaenys doubted their use. It had been Ser Lyle Crakehall’s negligence that had led to the Tarly incident. The King had punished him by giving his position to Ser Aurane Waters, the natural brother of his most trusted Master of Ships.

Said man was the leading the two men coming to greet them. He was a handsome and thin man with silver hair and grey-green eyes. Lady Allyria Dayne had once remarked to Rheanys that Ser Aurane resembled her father, but Rhaenys couldn’t help but to disagree. At the first glance, there might be a certain resemblance to be found, but taking a closer look the differences were quite clear. Ser Aurane had a cleft on his chin and his face was too narrow to belong to her father. He also lacked her father’s melancholic nature.

“Princess Rhaenys,” Ser Aurane greeted her and dipped his head. His grin was bright and enticing. “We are pleased to have you back, your grace.”

“I am pleased too,” she replied quickly and jerked her head at the Dragonpit looming behind her. “Shadowing is in dire need of a sheep. Feed him or I can’t guarantee for anything.”

“Certainly,” Ser Aurane confirmed with an equally bright smile and departed to fulfill his task, his two companions following after him, though both of them couldn’t have posed a more striking contrast.

One was a shambling hulk of a man with a seamed face crisscrossed with old scars. His name was Ser Franklyn Flowers, the bastard of Cider Hall.

The other man was commonly called Ser Ben Plumm, a former sellsword who had found his way in her father’s employ when he travelled to the Free Cities, scarcely three years ago.

He was an aging man, but still fit. He had a broad, weathered face, brown skin, a broken nose and grey-white hair. His most striking feature were his dark, almond-shaped Dothraki eyes, featured he had inherited from his mother. Yet that was not the reason her father had made him one of the Dragonkeepers. The reason had been that man had a drop of dragonblood in his veins as he liked to brag when he was particularly drunk.

 And it must be true, for the dragons held a certain affinity for Ser Ben Plumm, though most of the men serving on her father’s council disliked his appointment. Had he not been a foreigner, her father would have most likely named him the Commander of the Dragonkeepers.

“You should change your dress before seeing mother,” Aegon offered after they had left the Dragonpit behind them. Behind them followed the guards that had accompanied her brother to the Dragonpit. “Her ladies are in attendance.”

“I care not what the daisies think,” Rhaenys returned quickly. “And I am too exhausted to endure hours of beautification. I want to see mother and then I will seek out my chambers.”

Aegon laughed, dipped his head in the manner of a knight and offered is hand to her.

“Shall I escort you to, mother, sweet sister?”

Rhaenys rolled her eyes and took his hand. “You may.”

When they stepped into the Queen’s solar, her mother was seated at the balcony overseeing the small garden built beneath a pair of stone steps curling along a green meadow.

As Aegon had promised, their mother was in company of her daisies, namely Lady Margaery Tyrell and her cousins. Her mother had asked her to make friends with them, but to Rheanys they all looked and acted the same. At times, they even wore the same clothing, trying their best to look like Lady Margaery.

The only glimpse of sunshine among all these flowers was Lady Ashara and Princess Lyanna, his father’s second wife.

Princess Lyanna was seated at the table, a cup of wine in her hand. She wore a pale summer dress and a silver circlet that was placed on her plaited brown hair, falling all the way down to her waist. She was a beautiful woman, but nothing compared to Lady Ashara, the wife of Richard Lonmouth, who was serving as Master of Laws.

“Mother!” Aegon announced exultantly. “I bring you…Rhaenys.”

Within the blink of a moment, the daisies, Princess Lyanna, Lady Ashara and her mother shifted their attention back to Rhaenys.

When she was a little girl, Rhaenys had been unable to be around so many people at once. Sometimes, she had even stuttered or stumbled over her dress, but that was a thing of the past.

Rhaenys had long stopped caring what the other ladies thought of her, though she couldn’t deny that she cared about her mother’s opinion.

Yet given the smile curling on her lips, her mother seem unbothered by her unseemly appearance.

“Rhaenys,” her mother said softly. “Come here, an let me take a look at you.”

Rhaenys swallowed hard and stepped closer, taking in her mother’s changed appearance.

Her mother had always been fragile, but her hollow cheeks and the additional streaks in her dark hair made her appear exhausted.

“I am pleased to be back,” Rhaenys offered for a lack of a better answer. She loved her mother, but at times she didn’t know how to speak to her. That they had been separated for a whole year made it only worse. “And I bring greetings from Uncle Doran and Uncle Oberyn.”

“You look well,” her mother remarked at last and ever carefully, she touched Rheanys’ cheek. “You are almost a woman grown.”

 _And soon to be wed_ , Rheanys knew and felt resentment stirring inside her. _To be chained to this bloody crown until my last breath._

And yet she kept these thoughts to herself and nodded her head in agreement.

“I am, though I have barely grown an inch,” Rhaenys added jestingly. As expected, the daisies giggled obediently.

“You are good as you are,” Aegon added enthusiastically and touched her shoulder. “Small as you are.”

“Aegon is right,” Princess Lyanna added and smiled at her. “Size is not of importance, courage is.”

Rhaenys forced a smile over her lips. She had grown up to tolerate Princess Lyanna’s presence, but having spent a year in Dorne, where almost everyone thought of her as a witch or whore, it was strange to be in her presence.

 _It seems even a smart man like my Uncle can be a prideful fool_ , she couldn’t help but to think when her Lady Mother laughed about Princess Lyanna’s remark. The Dornish may think what they like about her father’s second wife, but never once had Rhaenys seen her act against her mother’s interest.

“I agree with Lyanna,” her mother remarked sweetly and squeezed Rheanys’ shoulder. “Courage counts more than size. Something you have plenty of, sweetly.”

Then, her mother let go of her arm and shifted her attention to the daisies, especially Lady Margaery Tyrell. Contrary, to her Uncle Doran, her mother had always put much effort in keeping the Tyrells happy. Sending Daenerys and Alyssa to Highgarden had been part of this ploy, though Rhaenys wasn’t sure if the Tyrells appreciated that gesture.

Rhaenys’ knew from Aegon’s letters that Margaery Tyrell had yet to give up her dream for queenship.

“Lady Margaery,” her mother addressed the pretty girl. “I ask you to take the ladies back to their chambers. I, Princess Lyanna, Lady Ashara, Prince Aegon and my daughter shall sup alone.

If Lady Margaery was bothered by her Queen’s request it didn’t show on her pretty face. Her smile was as sweet as running honey.

“Of course your, grace,” the girl tittered and soon after the daisies were fluttering away like a swarm of butterflies.

Rhaenys exhaled deeply once they had left and sat down at the table decked with flowers and all kinds of other delicacies, namely fruit pies and pastry.

“You look hungry,” Lady Ashara remarked gently. “Supper will is close, but the pastry is good. You should try it.”

Rhaenys shook her head.

“I shall wait for supper.”

“Well, then we shall take supper earlier than anticipated,” her mother chuckled lightly and called one of the servant girls to her side.

“A good idea, Lady Mother,” Aegon added and lounged in his chair like some unruly child, his arms crossed behind his back. “I am famished.”

Not long after, the servants arrived and replaced the pastries with honey fingers and sweetened wine with honey.

Rhaenys’ heart soared at the sight of her favorite dish.

“It was Aegon’s idea,” her Lady Mother remarked after Rheanys had tasted a piece of honey fingers. “You should thank him.”

“Thank him?” Rhaenys asked and took a sip from her cup.

“For what? It’s also his favorite dish,” she added jestingly and flashed her little brother an amused smile over the table. “I doubt it was much of a sacrifice for him.”

“She got me there,” Aegon admitted cheerfully. “It was only for my own benefit. I am a very selfish person.”

“Good that you are so humble to admit to your mistakes, sweet brother,” Rhaenys teased and placed her cup back on the table. “Well, I still am thankful. Dorne offers fine delicacies, but I missed this kind of food.”

“Well, it couldn’t have been so bad,” Princess Lyanna added amusedly. “You stayed longer than anticipated. I heard you even visited Hellholt.”

“I did,” Rhaenys confirmed. “Lady Ellaria’s father was most kind to receive me, but I do not think he appreciated the presence of my dragon.”

“That does not surprise me,” Lady Ashara remarked. “Given the history of this place.”

“Indeed,” Aegon agreed. “I am surprised Uncle Doran allowed you to visit Hellholt.”

“I didn’t exactly ask for his permission,” Rhaenys countered. “Doran was upset, but I apologized. Besides, we are family, even though Lady Ellaria is not wed to Uncle Oberyn.”

“Doran cares about your safety,” her mother chided her. “And he is sick. It was not kind of you to frighten him thus.”

“I am nowhere safer than on my dragon’s back,” Rhaenys insisted stubbornly. She hated it when people were treating her like a little babe, even if it was her mother.

“A good point,” Princess Lyanna agreed gently. “And Rhaegar would probably agree.”

“Queen Rhaenys might have a different opinion on this matter,” her Lady Mother replied and rolled her eyes. “But I do not wish to quarrel with you, Rhaenys. Speaking of your father, he wants to speak to you about an important matter.”

“Important matter?” Rhaenys asked and tried her best to hide her surprise. “Where is father?”

“He is scheduled to return on the morrow,” Princess Lyanna informed her. “He went to visit Queen Rhaella at Dragonstone. He wants to convince her to return from her self-imposed exile.”

This surprised Rhaenys even more.

“And you think he was successful?” Aegon asked skeptically.

Her mother smiled warmly.

“It is none of our business, my son. This is a matter between the Queen Mother and the King.”

“I have to disagree,” Rhaenys countered and refilled her cup.

“Uncle Viserys was exiled because of his entanglement with Lady Joanna, but we all know why father really exiled him. To calm the whisperings of treason. Even Grandmother must know that and it isn’t like father sent Uncle Viserys to the Night’s Watch. He is in Lys a place to satisfy his every desire.”

“She is thinking with the heart of a mother, daughter,” her mother chided again.

“I tried to reason with Rhaegar, but he remained firm in his decision,” Princess Lyanna added and looked slightly distraught. “But I also understand Queen Rhaella’s difficult position. She is growing old and wants to keep Viserys close.”

“Viserys is a prideful fool,” Rhaenys countered. “Father forbade it and he still went against his orders. And he didn’t even apologize. Grandmother is in the wrong here.”

“I have to disagree with you, sister,” Aegon argued politely. “Viserys assured me that he never held any unholy intentions. He only wanted to wed whom his heard desires. Is that so bad?

Rhaenys couldn’t help but to snort at Aegon’s naivety.

“I know how fond you are of Viserys, but your affection blinds you to the truth. Besides, I do not fear Uncle Viserys, but Lady Joanna’s grandfather. The old lion will always be a danger as long as he lives.”

“I think we have talked enough about politics,” her Lady mother added. “You have just returned. Let’s change the topic. Tell us about your travels…”

The rest of the evening passed quickly. Hearing about her home always made her Lady Mother smile.

The sky had changed to a navy-blue color when she returned to her chambers and asked the servants to prepare a bath. The long travel had exhausted her and she smelled of smoke.

Rhaenys sighed deeply as she lowered her body in the scalding water.

Once she had properly scrubbed her body she stepped out of the bath and started to brush out her waist-long hair. It was getting too long, but her mother wouldn’t like it if she cut it off.

 _I need to look pretty,_ she reminded herself and felt strangely sad when she thought of her approaching wedding in a year from now. All girls, highborn or peasant, dreamed about their weddings, but Rhaenys felt only fear.

 _Nonsense_ , she reminded herself and banished her fears away.  _All will be well._

She was had pulled her nightgown over her head when a knock on the door startled her.

When she opened the door she found Aegon grinning down at her.

“What are you…,” Rhaenys began, but Aegon pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips upon hers.

It took her a moment to return to their old routine, Rheanys pulling off his doublet and Aegon’s hands roaming over her breasts and down her hips. In between kisses, he pulled off her nightgown and his fingers worked their way between her legs, twisting and curling.

Rhaenys buried her face in Aegon’s shoulder to stifle her moans, least the servant girls heard them.

Once she had regained her composure she knelt and started to fumble with the bindings of his breeches. A sound between a moan and a surprised gasp left Aegon’s mouth when she took him in her mouth. It was a trick she had learned from her cousin Arianne. Her cousin Arianne had assured her that men like it and it seemed she was right. She observed with great satisfaction as Aegon’s knees began to buckle and his breathing grew labored. When he started to pull on her hair, she knew that he was close and rose from her position between his legs.

Aegon exhaled deeply, grimaced and was obviously frustrated by the interruption.

Rheanys found it amusing and pushed Aegon unto the bed.

Aegon sat up and kissed her, his lips opening hers to give his tongue entrance.

Aegon shuddered in her arms, one of his hands touching hers.

“Lay down,” she instructed him and he obeyed, a trembling smile curling on his lips. His cheeks were slightly flushed and for that brief moment Rhaenys believed that it wouldn’t be so bad to marry him. They would take away all her freedom, but at least she would have  _this_.

They kissed some more and soon Aegon was pulling her unto him, where he wanted her.

Rhaenys gasped when he entered her, but then he stopped abruptly, taking Rhaenys’ off guard.

Searching his face, she realized the truth.

“You have never done this before, have you?” she asked him and tried to hide her surprise.

“Never,” Aegon told her, his hand touching her waist. “I wanted to wait for you.”

Rheanys felt a hint of discomfort when she heard this, her time in Dorne spilling forward. Guilt clenched around her heart, but the touch of Aegon’s hand on her breast called her back to the present.

 _Not now_ , she reminded herself and banished these thoughts away.  _There is no time for this._

Then, she exhaled deeply. Slowly, she rocked against him. Aegon’s fingernails buried themselves deeper into her waist and guided her where he needed her.

Instinctively, she sped up her movements and closed her eyes. Her released came over her suddenly and a heavy sigh escaped her lips.

Aegon thrusted a few more times, before he was done.

Breathing loudly, Aegon rolled unto his side and regarded her with a curious look.

“You were no maid, were you?” he asked hesitatingly, but she noticed the hint of displeasure in his voice.

Rheanys nodded her head in confirmation and made her way to the basin filled with water. She dipped a cloth inside and cleaned herself between her legs.

“I thought you have never done this before, brother,” Rhaenys replied and began to search through the strongbox in which she always kept a bundle of tansy.

“That is no proper answer,” Aegon countered, but Rhaenys had no intention to tell him about the man she had given her maidenhead. In truth, it had been nothing special. It had been a sweet entanglement and nothing more, but it was a small bit of freedom she had cherished.

“The is the only answer you will get from me,” she added sharply.

Aegon grimaced in displeasure and pulled on his breeches.

“Mother and father would disapprove,” Aegon added. “And the Faith says a woman ought to reserve her maidenhead for her husband.”

Rhaenys felt the urge to throttle Aegon, but decided against it. He was nearly a man grown but at times he saw the world like a child.

“Father and mother are not the kind of people who should council me on maidenly virtue,” she replied and forced a smile over her lips. “And the Faith can kiss my ass.”

Aegon chuckled.

“You haven’t changed at all, Rhaenys. Your tongue his sharp as ever,” Aegon added and pulled on his tunic, before doing the same with his boots. “Tell me…did you do this thing with your mouth for this other man? Was he one of Arianne’s many suitors?”

“None of your business,” she repeated and rolled her eyes. “And stop complaining. You liked it, didn’t you?”

“Aye,” Aegon confirmed in a flustered tone and blushed visibly. “I liked it…but I would prefer if you didn’t do this for other men.”

“I am no whore,” Rhaenys assured him and tried her best to hide her anger. “I am sorry if my actions offended you, but you do not have to fret about any negative consequences. I have always been very careful. No other man will plant his seed inside me. Your heirs will be trueborn and noble.”

Aegon nodded his head and smiled.

“I believe you, sister.”

…


End file.
